MotoGP in a tuxedo risks losing its identity

Once upon a time there was mud. Once upon a time there was the smell of grilled meat wrestling with the scent of gasoline. Race weekends were pure passion, nothing else. A collective ritual.

Today, walking through paddocks, fields, and grandstands, that magic seems to be fading. Mugello and (in some ways) Jerez remain pure. The only survivors of a MotoGP that is changing. With the risk that, in donning a tuxedo, it ends up forgetting its motorcycle boots.

It’s no secret that Dorna—especially after being acquired by Liberty Media—is looking to Formula 1 to reshape MotoGP in its own image. And it seems to be doing so with the eyes of someone who has watched the neighbor throw exclusive garden parties for years and now wants to replicate them at home.

Grandstand ticket prices have skyrocketed almost everywhere; access to the paddock has become a privilege for a select few willing to buy VIP packages that cost as much as a scooter. We’re approaching the opposite extreme: soon there will be more champagne flutes than beer cans. With the risk of denaturing a spectacle that worked precisely because it was raw.

A large part of the new audience doesn’t care whether Bagnaia chose the hard or the medium on the rear. They want to snap a selfie in front of his garage during the Pit Lane Walk, or directly with him in the Fan Zone, to show on social media that they belong to the elite.

They’re seeking a crowd that doesn’t make a fuss, that buys official merchandise and doesn’t flood the track after the race (now a privilege of only a few GPs). A MotoGP turning into a cathedral visited by more camera-toting tourists than faithful worshippers.

Motorcycling is born from the grease and dust of garages. Its story is written by the hands of those who were never afraid to get them dirty. Turning it into a mere commercial product means handing it over to a glossy aesthetic—ideal for cameras and algorithms—but stripped of every trace of humanity. The soul becomes synthetic, engineered at a desk.

Formula 1 can afford a cold distance. MotoGP cannot. Its history and essence say so. It lives on contact and elbow-to-elbow battles between prototypes that deliver emotions not so far from what any motorcycle can evoke. It needs its gearhead crowd to remain credible. Because once the hillside fan decides to stay home, no influencer guest will be able to fill the void of passion.